


Instinct

by LittleGreenPlasticSoldier



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Heavy Angst, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Originally Posted on Tumblr, Sexual Content, Suicide by hunter, Werewolf
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-02
Updated: 2016-06-02
Packaged: 2018-07-11 17:28:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 969
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7062574
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LittleGreenPlasticSoldier/pseuds/LittleGreenPlasticSoldier
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You knew, had known for a while, that Dean Winchester was the right one for what you needed.</p><p>For @one-shots-supernatural and her Prompt For June 4: “Please, point your gun at me if it helps you relax.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Instinct

She stretched out, breathed long. Her toes almost touched the opposite corner of the bed while her fingers scratched the headboard.  A sad little scritchy scratch Dean wouldn’t even hear from the bathroom.

She felt the residual warmth thrum behind her underwear, a lacy, boy-leg pair, light pink, with a little bow on the front.  The style has never suited her but she always wished it did.  It was one of this month’s 3-pack she’d bought and she tilted her head thoughtfully at the ceiling, fingering the elastic, thinking of how much she’d enjoyed the pathetic recklessness of buying indulgent things that she knew would be broken.

She thought maybe he wouldn’t mind coming out to find her still unclothed, where he’d had her and left her.  Maybe he’d like to see everything raised in the cool motel air, like it had back when he’d first undressed her and trickled his fingertips over her body, surveying his privilege.  She’d shuddered before him and broke ranks in passion - clawed at his clothes, grabbed handfuls of him and his jacket, thrown herself at him like she could hint that he was saving her tonight.

“Uh, you’re insatiable,” he’d grinned.  “I love it.”

“I know,” she’d breathed, the words chewed from the back of her jaw, head lolling over the mattress while she drew him in with her limbs.  “I’m always,” tonguey kisses, dry bites, grabby pulls, roll him over and fuck him down. Dean had squeezed her flesh and she’d pulled his wrist back while he did, letting it slap back onto her arse, making it jiggle.  “Always hungry for this,” she’d said, eyed him salaciously, felt the thirst for the height of daylight pleasure drip off her teeth.  He smacked her again and moaned into her mouth as she fucked down, then held her up so he could hook his cock into her and knock her upwards enough to catch a bouncing breast in his teeth.

She couldn’t have picked a better man for the night.

And now the thrum was there but slipping into the past, again not enough to compete with what else her body could do these days.  The goosebumps disappeared and she felt the heat push out of her, felt the breeze it created above the bed as it rose so fast, starting to alter the climate of the room.  Her body ebbed with growth, pulled her throat down and wrought her gizzards knotty and what she’d had of Dean, that delicious luck still fuzzy on her hard palate and sweet on her lips, started to taste like bait.

Dean came out of the bathroom wearing sweatpants and nothing and she twisted like a rope, watching him, thinking of how he had her so alive before, so delicately, desperately core-strung and wanting.  It was barely something she could recall now.  She moved off the bed, feet flexed and bones trying to warp, and stood there open, waiting for Dean to notice her.

It only took seconds, like she knew it would, because he’s wired to see odd and smell warning.

“You okay?” he asked, pausing all over.

She watched him think and look, wondered if he knew what that sweat meant when it came out the backs of her forearms and the tops of her feet.

His brow twitched and he turned slightly, angled his centre toward hers.

She watched the pretty string of fairy lights behind his eyes light up and lead him to reason, saw how he let slide potential awkwardness and misunderstanding while he made sure…

She stood still and fought to keep all her trembling energy within her skin, let him darken and coil in suspicion while she acted so strangely, and held herself small for as long as possible, right up until she felt the familiar flare of the keratin.

Realisation dawned the moment Dean blinked in the fact that her hair had grown, maybe half an inch, right before him.

He lunged for a weapon and raised it, safety off but aimed loosely at her feet, hoping the stampede in his chest wouldn’t throw off his aim when he’d need it.

“Talk to me sweetheart,” he said firmly as he could.  “What’s happening?”

“Please,” she said, surprised as how her mouth felt fat with teeth already, and smiled as best she could “point your gun at me if it helps you relax.”

Dean huffed out his nose, unsatisfied with her answer and adjusted his hold.  Then all her hair grew, everywhere, in the unmistakably mottled style of a wolf, and her fingernails struck themselves out, the whole phase making her whimper and stumble.  “But you better be packing silver,” she gasped.  “Please.”

“Y/N,” he breathed.  “Did you know I was looking for you?”

“I missed you in Chippewa Falls,” she said and managed a weak smile before stumbling again under the weight of her transforming skeleton, chin jutting forward and thighs starting to curve themselves. “Can I thank you ing advansh?” She coughed, tears bursting out at the pain and embarrassment.

“No need sweetheart.”  He was grim and surprised at his own feelings. “I gotcha, okay?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay,” he said, finding himself puffing and nervous.

Another wave of change rocked her forward.  Her gasp was high but the exhale was rumbled raspy.

Dean winced for her, pushed his lower lip unto the upper and hoped she still had enough time and enough self to give him a sign.  

Y/N closed her eyes and felt how the tears soaked into the downy matt, didn’t even reach her chin.  She drew in her last breath, pulled it all the way down deep enough to reclaim her own soul, and leaned into it, waiting for Dean to faithfully squeeze the trigger.

She knew she’d picked the best hunter for that night.


End file.
